Toothpick Fences and Macaroni Chains
by medievalweaponry
Summary: This may not be Phil Coulson's first class of kindergarteners, but after one day of dealing with him, he's realizing it might be his last.
1. Day One: Clint

[CTRL-C: Copy]

On the first day of kindergarten, you get two presents.

No bruises for the Whole Entire Day Before and a new shirt. It's purple with a purple bullseye in the middle, and you don't care because you've been playing with a Nerf bow Mama got you at the Goodwill sale for the whole summer. Papa tried to take it away a few times, but you've always stolen it back. Barn says you're quick on your feet, that it'll help you when you grow up, and you nod and run around the backyard ten times every morning to keep your speed up.

So you're standing outside George Washington Elementary School in a new shirt and appropriately old and patched pair of pants to go with that you were pretty sure were Papa's before they were Barn's. Mama had tried to get your hair into some sort of shape, but all it did was stick up in twenty different directions, so after twenty minutes of work and eventually dunking your head into the tub and calling it quits, it ended up looking somewhat flat.

The teacher that sees you wastes no time telling you you look just like your brother at this age and coos about how she bets you're going to be just as smart and funny. You don't have the heart to tell her you'll be out of school as many days as you're in, seeing as your Papa likes you a lot more than he ever liked Barn. You don't have the heart to tell her why you tilt your head to the right to pick up more noise, since you can't hear a thing other than the occasional ringing in the left. The right's at least a little less broken.

Everyone talks about how like Barn you are, but you know you're not his perfect copy like they all say.

You have Mama's eyes and Mama's injuries and a set of broken ears that are all your own.

Barn smiles at you, lets go of your hand, and runs off to his classroom, easily blending into the crowd of fourth graders milling about the larger room father down the hall, and you turn to face the big red door in front of you. You pull the secondhand Spiderman backpack your mom got out of a refuse basket and march in like the trooper your Papa calls you when he isn't hitting you or drunk, and hope for a new start.


	2. Day One: Tasha

[CTRL-N: New]

You don't speak much English.

Your parents moved you here from Russia over the summer, after some "trouble" with the local mob that your father only speaks about in hushed tones when he thinks you're not around. But you've always had a sharp sense of hearing, so you know what they're talking about. You know your father had a flair for attracting the wrong attention, and that's why you had to pack up your entire life in Russia and run away here.

You were looking forward to starting kindergarten there, but now you have to start school in an unfamiliar country, speaking an unfamiliar language, with children you're not even sure about.

You look around the name tags on the little circular table they've sat you down at and sound out the names to yourself, wondering if you've butchered them as much as they're about to butcher yours.

Clinton Barton.

Bruce Banner.

Henry Pym.

Bruce sounds like a strong name, fit for a strong boy. Perhaps he'll be worth talking to. Clinton sounds pretentious and Henry sounds strange when you say it.

You think you'll like them all, but you're not sure.

Judging by that boy at the other table who won't stop shrieking about robots and English butlers, boys here are much different than the ones back home.


	3. Day One: Bruce

[CTRL-B: Bold]

When your mother dresses you for school, she tells you to be proud.

You're wearing your Sunday best, even though you told mom a shirt and shorts would probably be okay, so your shirt (she compromised and let you go with short sleeves) has a collar and your pants are impressively clean. You've gotta be clean if you're going to be in the same class as Tony Stark (you've heard both the news and the rumors during your evenings watching the TV with your mother), so you can make a good impression.

You can't afford to make a bad impression with him, not while your father's watching your every move, because you've screwed up more than enough times for him to take a belt to you tonight.

You can't mess up being friends with Tony Stark.

No matter what.

You sit down at a table on one side of a scary looking redhead, relieved when you see two other boys sharing your fate. You smile at her and she doesn't smile back, and you view Tony's table with growing envy. They're talking.

He looks over at you and shoots you a wide grin, all gleaming teeth and laughter, and you feel like he's going to start something new in your life.


	4. Day One: Tony

[CTRL-T: New Tab]

You walk into the garishly decorated room knowing you're worth more than all of these kids' parents combined at five and a half years old. They all stare at you with various expressions of shock and awe (excepting the redhead at your nine, who's staring you down like you're an animal) and you grin and wave back before sitting down hard.

Your nametag says Anthony, so you grab one of the Sharpies you hid in your backpack and scribble Tony over the offending letters in bright red. Red's always been your favorite. Red and yellow.

You look around your table for new names and sigh as you see no one you know.

Luke Odinson.

Oh, here's someone you know _of_, even if you don't know him.

Steven Rogers.

Isn't he Crazy Captain Rogers' kid?

Oh, that's going to be a fun case to crack.


	5. Day One: Steve

[CTRL-S: Save]

You're expected to come here and excel.

Your father yelled that from his bed this morning, between the pills he's not supposed to be taking and calling your mother names no self-respecting man would ever use. But your father cleans up nice, even if he has a bit of a reputation that precedes him, so no one expects Captain Rogers to be an abusive asshole that calls his wife bad names and hates his son.

But he is and you can't change the fact that no one here cares.

You think you're the only kid in here that's dirt poor, other than Bucky, and you know Bucky from before. Your dads served in the army together, but Bucky's dad is cool and lets you come over when your dad's getting to be a bit much. You like the Barnes family much better than you like your own.

You take your seat at the chair in front of your nametag and hear an excited whisper from the other side of the table as you put down your ratty old fourth-hand backpack. Tony Stark is staring at you and pointing, and you hear nothing between "Whoa, Stevie" and "Crazy Captain Rogers".

You close your fingers tight around the inhaler in your pocket and stare at the door, waiting for Bucky to come through, but the next person you see is a scrawny blond boy with glasses that looked thicker than his head.


	6. Day One: Hank

[CTRL-H: Replace]

You've just moved here from Nowhere, Nebraska, so you've got to start school somewhere unfamiliar. At least, at home, there were enough of your cousins to fill a whole kindergarten class, so you'd have someone you knew with you at all times. Here, you've got no one.

You almost miss the stink of rotting corn that was your family's field and the cows that would kick you in the head when you're stuck in the smog and gloom of New York. It's big and scary compared to the flat plains and rolling hills of the Midwest, but you think you could like it if you tried.

Your parents sent you to your grandmother, who eagerly took you in, and you know your father's talk about bringing the rest of the family over here is all lies. He's glad to be rid of you, the tiny boy who invented things instead of helping out on the farm, and you find your seat with relative ease, ending up across the table from a redhead who looks like she's angry about the fact that this exists.

"I just moved here." You start, timid as always. "So I don't know anybody." You know the Midwestern twang to your voice makes people laugh, and you've been trying to get rid of it, but New Yorkers speaking is very hard to find beyond yelling. You don't listen to yelling much.

"I as well." Her voice has a thick accent to it, and you can't tell where she's from, but you know she's new too. The thought thrills you, that you've got someone who's doing the same thing you are, and the weak smile she gives you pulls one out of you as well. "My name is Natalia Romanova, but Tasha is good."

"Hank Pym. Henry's stupid. I like Natalia." Her name rolls off your tongue in a way that doesn't compare to hers, but the small smile she sends you in response makes the embarrassment worth it.

Your conversation's interrupted when the last member of your table slides into his chair, so silently that none of you had noticed him come through the doorway, and nods to you.

"Clint Barton. Clinton's for old men."

"Hey Clint." You smile.

He doesn't smile back.

This is going to be a long year.


	7. Day One: Loki

[CTRL-O: Open]

You run in, knowing you're late, and are surprised to find yourself exactly two point four five minutes early, although you're the last person in your class to show up.

Thor took far too long to eat his cereal, between screaming about what a wonderfully bright day today was, and how being alive was a gift from God on such a day like this. Your brother's an idiot, but at least he's vaguely inspiring sometimes. Not.

Thor's an absolute idiot.

You never quite understood why your parents didn't name you Loki to match, seeing as they thought naming their eldest Thor was an excellent idea, but you feel like your mother had the sense to realize that giving their kid the most Scandinavian name _ever_ was probably not a good idea if you were planning to move to the United States directly after his birth.

But still.

Luke?

Really?

People call you Loki anyway, at home, since you're kind of an excellent liar and can get away with pretty much anything if you try.

You sit down at the table, adjusting your definitely still immaculate hair and look around the classroom.

Loud boy at your table, dressed in clothes more expensive than all the equipment in the classroom, speaking about things most of the kids in the classroom don't understand. Must be Stark.

Rogers is a familiar face, considering he looks exactly like his father, and the rest of the kids in the classroom look relatively useless.

Bullseye looks (and probably smells) just like he's just been pulled straight out of a dumpster.

Ginger looks mean and quite willing to punch anyone who crosses her.

Curly looks like the strong and silent type.

Four Eyes is easily manipulated and has the self esteem of a rock.

Man, this is going to be a fun year.

Of course, that all changes when the boy across the table starts trying to talk to you and you're almost relieved when the teacher comes in to the classroom.

Almost.


	8. Day One: Phil

[CTRL-P: Print]

You walk in, dressed in your usual suit and tie, remove your sunglasses, and survey this latest crop of children. It's a rewarding job, being the first teacher many of these kids have ever had, or will remember. You've been teaching for years and years at this school, calling in a favor with a good friend of yours from your own school days as soon as you were out of college to get a job here at GWE.

It's a quiet place.

Not much trouble in this part of town, but that's probably because people stick together too much to tell on each other. Everyone knows the Banner and Barton boys are being smacked around daily, that Captain Rogers is a jackass and that Howard Stark could care less about the fact that he has a son outside of business, but no one reports it. People stick together too closely.

You should have taken Nick seriously when he said it was your turn with the emotional baggage class.

You look down the roll call list and groan in your head before looking over the room again. "Right. My name's Mr. Coulson, but you kids can call me Mr. C if you want. I'm going to be your teacher for the year. We're going to start by calling roll while you're all at your tables. Use this time to let me know if you go by a nickname rather than the name we have on the list, and after roll call, we'll move to the carpet to learn more about each other. Understood?"

A lazy round of 'yes' and 'okay's fill the room and you flip through the clipboard before finding the right page.

"Banner, Robert." The curly haired boy you know from passing glances in the supermarket coughed slightly, a hand lightly wrapped around his ribs.

"Bruce, sir."

"Alright, Bruce then."

"Barton, Clinto—"

"Clint." The blond boy narrows his eyes, glaring as he looks you over. "And don't you dare tell me I look like Barn."

"I never taught your brother." You only know of Barney Barton and the trouble he's caused around the school, even though he never quite seems to stain the "golden boy" reputation he's earned. You have a feeling this kid will be different, and you're proved right when the boy relaxes. You shoot him a smile that's tenuously returned.

"Odinson, Lucas?"

"Loki." The dark haired boy crosses his arms, scrunching up his nose.

"Pym, Henry?"

The boy with glasses that you'd unfortunately placed the farthest from the board raised his hand. He struck you (and probably everyone) as the timid type, so hopefully you could help him outgrow some of that this year. "Hank. Uh, I like Hank."

"Rogers, Steven?"

"Steve, sir." The kid looked exactly like his dad, so he was easy to spot, but you got the feeling he wasn't much of a fan of that.

"Romanova, Natalia?"

"Tasha." She seems especially shifty, looking about almost like she's trying to locate all the escape routes, and you move on to your last, and probably most exhausting, charge of the year.

"Stark, Tony?"

"Heeeeeeere!" The kid stands up on his chair, waving his arms wildly to get your attention, and you try your best not to enable him.

"Let's all move to the circle time area. Everyone pick a spot for the rest of the year." While the kids run off to claim the best spots, you rub your forehead, letting out a long sigh.

Nick's never going to hear the end of this.


	9. Day One: Clint (2)

[CTRL-C: Copy]

This is a really red carpet and it's starting to hurt your eyes.

It's got all sorts of blue circles and green squares and stuff, and everyone's sitting on them, so you figure you'd give it a go. There's a purple shape that looks like a circle, but has weird edges and looks like a bird beak, so you sit on it. And the weirdo with the new, shiny clothes gasps at you.

You're not that great at reading lips, but you can tell he's saying something like "Oh my god, boys don't sit on purple things".

"I sit where I want." You grind out, glaring at him, and his mouth opens and closes uselessly before he shuts up, turning to the other kids to pester them.

The redhead stares at you, just like your dad does, trying to figure you out. At least that's what it looks like. To anyone else, it looks like she's trying to burn a hole in your forehead, which she actually might be doing, but you know that she's trying to find your weaknesses. You have some, but that's what hiding's for.

Everyone stops arguing and turns to the big blue chair in the center, and you look up to see the man who was taking attendance staring you down. From the look on his face, he's been trying to catch everyone's attention for awhile, and you were the last person to turn around.

"Sorry, sir." That's the best you can offer and he seems to take it before starting to speak. You struggle to catch the words and hold the ones you can understand close to your heart in the hopes that you'll be good enough.

You aren't.


	10. Day One: Tasha (2)

[CTRL-N: New]

The boy in the purple shirt is _fascinating_.

He doesn't seem to care what anyone thinks about him and is quite brave, although you do see him as a little foolish for causing trouble so early in the school year. Had this been your preschool, he would have likely been soundly reprimanded and sent home immediately. But this isn't Russia, this is America, and apparently they have rules against yelling at children here.

Your parents think it's a good way to raise children, but you figure fear works, since that'd tone kids like Stark over there down a bit. He just doesn't seem to shut up, no matter how many quiet nudges Bruce and Steve fit in, until the teacher glares straight at him. And then, the teacher turns to Purple Shirt Boy (Clint, that's right) and calls out to him.

He seems lost and you poke him with your foot (which others would interpret as a swift kick to the rear) and he snaps back into it, nodding. "Sorry, sir."

Mr. C smiles and asks everyone to introduce themselves, starting with Clint to keep him awake.

"Name's Clint. Five years old. Like bows." He considers that acceptable and goes back to being a silent observer, something you find curious and a little scary.

You used to have a cousin like that once.

He didn't last too long.

They look at you next and you assume they want you to go. You are sitting directly to Clint's right, so you suppose it's reasonable that you'd be expected to be next.

"My name is Natasha Romanova. I am six years old. I enjoy ballet." You look to see if anyone has questions. Stark in particular seems about to burst, so you clarify on the one question that people always seem to be asking you now. "I move from Russia two months ago." That has him sitting still in seconds and Mr. C nods, pointing next to Steve.

"Name's Steve. Uh, I like drawing and I'm six." He scratches right behind his ear, obviously uncomfortable, and you notice that he looks as if he hasn't grown into his limbs yet. He's too thin, but the lump in his pocket looks suspiciously like some kind of medication, so that must be it. "I got a friend named Bucky, but I guess he's in the other class."

"My name's Tony Stark and I'm, like,_ the best_." The other boy cuts in before the teacher can even motion to him and you instantly know you hate him. "I like making robots and stuff and one time, I even made one that could talk to me since, you know, nobody really likes me and stuff—"

"That's enough, Tony." You have no idea how the teacher is staying calm, but you think he deserves a medal of some sort. Maybe a plaque. This must be exhausting. "Bruce?"

"I'm Bruce. I like science. I'm five too." Bruce shies away from the attention and you wonder why he's like that. He's another person you'd like to figure out, but you suppose you shouldn't take too many projects on yet. Not when Purple Shirt Boy (Clint, you have to remember his name) is going to be more than enough of a task.

"Hank. Same." The other boy from your table passes the baton as quickly as possible, painfully aware of the way Tony chuckles at his accent.

"My name's Luke, but you can call me Loki." The last boy is the prissiest kid you have ever seen and you're pretty sure you hate him more than Stark. Five minutes ago, you never would have thought that possible. Well, now, Stark seems like an angel compared to this kid. "I enjoy theater."

"Wait, dude, you're Thor's brother, huh?" Tony looks awestruck. "Thor like wrestling team Thor?"

Loki groans, clenching his fists. "Yeah. Wrestling team Thor."

"Cool!" Stark doesn't seem to get the clue and now you're regretting actually liking him a little bit.

Mr. C manages to herd everyone back to their seats and pass out a math worksheet to keep you all busy, which Stark promptly completes and spends the rest of the time whining.

You spend the time after you finish yours with your face pressed to the desk, wondering how much more time you have to be here for. You stare up at the clock, watching the arms move too slowly for your liking.

Well, it would be kind of helpful if you knew how to tell time, though.


End file.
